


Barbers are Worse than Mages

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: An Orlesian barber, Fenris being Fenris, Fenris' unruly white mop of hair., Fluff, Hair, Haircuts, Hawke being Hawke, Just a hint of pent-up desire, scissors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris' hair is getting a little long and Hawke wants to treat him to a haircut. So she drags him along to a new barber shop...only to find out that the stoic, broody elf is deadly afraid of scissors. <br/>Something sweet and funny (hopefully) and fluffy, with just the tiniest bit of angst and pent up desire thrown in for good measure. Timing is set before Hadrianna’s demise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barbers are Worse than Mages

“You know, Fenris,” Hawke casually chirped in her usual amused drawl, “your hair is getting a bit long…”

The white haired elf run a hand through white tendrils of hair that were falling across his face, shading his eyes. He looked at her with a frown as she was trudging through the dust  on his side, along the winding path leading out of the Wounded Coast. His hair stuck to the sweat running down his neck, irritating the Void out of him. Just like she was.

“Your point being?” he growled.

“You should have it cut. I can’t see those pretty eyes of yours anymore and it’s a shame.”

He paused and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“My…pretty eyes…”

“Oh, I just want to be able to see them, rest easy,” she smiled at his perplexed look. “No plucking them out to wear as a necklace or anything like that…that’s Isabela’s thing.”

“Get out of my hair, Hawke.”

“That’s just the point. I can’t. It’s getting so long and …puffy.”

“My hair is not puffy,” he bristled.

“Unruly, then. Like a big white mop.”

She offered a brilliant smile to his indignant growl and patted his shoulder, carefully avoiding the spikes of his armour.

“We’ll take care of it, don’t you worry.”

And with that ominous remark she was off to chatter with Merrill and Isabela. Fenris looked at her with equal parts irritation and fondness warring inside her. The blasted woman was always like that. A ray of sunshine that made him feel even more gloomy. A ray of sunshine, like a balm on his soul, chasing away the darkness. Always touching him, always smiling at him, never afraid or put off by his growling, or his glowering at her.  And so incredibly, stunningly beautiful.

He felt desire stirring inside him as he watched the gentle, alluring swaying of her hips and frowned even harder. Having such …desires was weakness. But blast it, he was male, and all his male parts were in excellent working order, thank you very much. His body seemed to have a mind of its own and that mind was trained on her. He huffed. Blasted, infuriating, fascinating woman!

* * *

They were returning home together later that evening after a few tankards of ale in the Hanged Man when Hawke suddenly came to a sudden stop and looked at him with a radiant smile.

“Look, Fenris,” she drawled at him, fake surprise thick on her voice as she pointed to a new shop in the square. “A barber shop!”

“No,” he started backing up, realizing too late that he had been set up.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“NO, Hawke,” Fenris added a bit more forcefully, getting desperate to escape her. “N-O. It is a two letter word signifying denial. I am sure you have heard it before.”

She slipped her arm in his so casually he was too shocked to respond or pull back. He just stood watching her, as she brought down another one of his barriers without even caring. _No touching_. It was like an invisible sign plastered on his forehead and there hadn’t been anyone so stupid as to ignore it so far. Or so trusting. He couldn’t decide which of the two she was.

She started pulling him towards the shop and he had to dig his heels in to stop her.

“Come on Fenris,” she cajoled, “It’s on me. You really need that haircut, honey.”

Shocked again. Not at the endearment, she used gentle words like that on everyone, from her mabari to the urchins on the street. He was shocked at how good it made him feel, like a liquid, warm feeling spreading slowly through his body.

He dug his heels in again and pulled back when he realised that in his surprise he had allowed her to drag him nearly to the door of that blasted establishment.

They wrestled for control for a moment, Fenris trying to pull his hand back without hurting her and she stubbornly refusing to let go.

“What’s your problem?” she shouted at the end, after a few furious minutes of tugging, “you really need to have your hair cut, Fenris, it's getting in the way when you're fighting!”

She noticed the look in his eyes then, not angry or defiant, but wide with…fear? What the..?

“Fenris?” she whispered, shocked at seeing her strong, stoic elven warrior so shaken up over a haircut.

“Promise me you won't tell anyone, Hawke…?” he whispered, the wide-eyed look on his face getting even wider, now resembling something akin to panic.

She nodded, apprehension tightening around her heart.

“I am afraid of scissors.”

Well, she had promised not to tell anyone. She hadn’t promised not to laugh.

 

* * *

Minutes later he found himself sitting in the barber’s chair, Hawke slumped on a chair opposite him, trying to stifle the last of her giggles. He glowered at her, while the little Orlesian barber moved around him making distressed sounds.

“Zis will neve do, mon ami,” he frowned and waved his hands dramatically. “It iz a crime, it iz, non? Beau hair like ziz!” 

He run his dainty little fingers through Fenris’ unruly mane, making the elf twitch and nearly start glowing blue.

“My friend here has an aversion at being touched too much, Jean-Pierre,” Hawke warned the barber. “And apparently, a unhealthy fear of scissors.” She chuckled again at this, making Fenris just want to throttle her. It was her laughter and his embarrassment at looking like a weakling in her eyes that had finally made him step through the threshold and sit on the chair. He was getting the urge to bolt any minute now, though. The sound of scissors, snick-snick, had always made him shudder. It was his best kept secret as any weakness he had shown would have been used to torment him in the past. Hawke, at least, he was certain, would rile him about it, but never use it against him.

The barber pinched his cheek. Fenris looked at him in wide-eyed shock.

“Such a pretty elf, non?” he turned to Hawke. “Iz he your servant, mademoiselle Hawke?”

Before Fenris had the time to react to the man’s words he watched in fascination as a hard, cold look came upon her eyes and Hawke bristled and fumed.

“He is my friend, my companion and my _equal_ , you little Orlesian _shit_ , and if you insult him again, I will put the fear of scissors in your heart, too.”

She stood over the terrified Orlesian barber, angry and not smiling for the first time in …never, fiercely protective of him, and Fenris smiled as that warm fuzzy feeling once more spread through him.

“Now, cut his hair, but touch him again and I’ll kill you. Comprendre vous?"

Damn his hair, they could cut his ears of if they wanted, too. It was worth it to see her defend him like this.

Minutes later, as the barber carefully cut his hair trying to avoid touching him as much as possible, he looked at Hawke with a desperate look on his face. The snick-snick of the scissors next to his sensitive ears was threatening to unman him. He felt his body start to tremble. He knew is fear was irrational, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Please, Hawke,” he whispered at the glowering woman who was watching every move the barber made with narrowed eyes, “say something. Distract me.”

She glanced at him and her expression immediately softened. A small, sad sweet smile graced her lips.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Just speak.” He huffed, another shudder rocking his frame. “Venhedis, woman, half the time it is impossible to shut you up, and now you don’t know what to say?”

She sat opposite him and took one of his hands in hers, running her fingers over the lyrium lines decorating his long, elegant fingers. Her touch was oddly soothing where physical contact had only caused him pain in the past and he relished the feeling, feeling the urge to purr like a kitten.

“My brother Carver,” she started a sad look in her eyes, “wanted to let his hair grow longer, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it.” She snorted. “He thought it would make him look more manly, more dangerous, if he was sporting a big, sexy ponytail. He refused to let anyone with a pair of scissors near him for months. Finally, my mother cut his hair off in his sleep. He was inconsolable, poor thing. So I cut my hair short to make him feel better. Not that he appreciated it, or anything, but that was Carver for you.”

“What happened?” he dreaded asking, knowing that she had lost her brother during their desperate flight form Lothering, but he just had to make her keep talking, both to take his mind of the clipping sounds the scissors were making and…well, just to hear her talking.

“An ogre squashed him like a bug,” she whispered, her hand squeezing his, the tiny movement bellying the casual words with which she described her brother’s end.

“I am sorry for your loss, Hawke.”

“Thank you.” She brought his hand to her face and laid a gentle kiss against his palm. Fenris’ breath caught and his eyes dilated until there was only a pale green ring around his black pupils. A hot wave of desire spread through him, scaring him to death in its intensity and making his loins instantly ache. He cupped her cheek with his palm and relished the feel of her satin smooth skin under her fingertips. _Would her skin be just as soft everywhere?_ , he wondered, _would she welcome his touch just as readily?_ W _ould she writhe and moan his name as he took her? Would.._

“It iz done.”

They both looked at the barber as if he was telling them the Maker had appeared in the courtyard of the Chantry in a dress, dancing the Remigold.

“Ze hair, “ the barber pointed to Fenris’ head. “It iz done.”

Hawke drew in a breath and held it. Her eyes grew wide and a radiant smile lit up her face.

“You look gorgeous!” she sighed, her hand over her heart. “Oh, be still my beating heart. Fenris, you're a _heartbreaker_!”

He turned around to look at himself at the mirror. He stood there looking at this stranger in the glass, tilted his head to the side and run a hand through his now considerably shorter hair. The style was not radically different, the barber had left some small tendrils of hair falling over his forehead and shading his eyes, but the sides were more styled, his ears more prominent, his cheekbones and his bone structure stood out…Damn, he looked good! He smiled at his reflection and then at Hawke and then at the barber who beamed.

Hawke paid up and dragged him out of the shop, unable to tear her eyes off him. The nobles in the streets did double takes. Women ogled. A guardswoman patrolling the Hightown square  bumped her head on a post. Men catcalled.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Fenris had been a deep shade of red by the time they reached his mansion, and that is when they both realised they were still holding hands. They both looked at their linked fingers and pulled back as if they were burnt. Fenris cleared his throat, unsure of what to say.

“Well,” she  started, her voice a little breathless, “that was fun… See you at the Hanged Man later? I want everybody to see your new hairstyle.”

He smiled tha lopsided grin of his then and she couldn’t resist herself. She run a hand through his silky hair, pushing the snow white locks out of his eyes. She though she heard a low moan at the back of his throat and nearly threw herself in  his arms. How many hints did she have to throw at the thick-headed elf, before he took one?

She leaned in and laid a kiss on his cheek, and this time she was certain she could hear his gasp and a little moan.

She left him standing there, and smiled as she hurried back home.

Soon. Any day now.

 

 

 


End file.
